Five Plus One
by Allotropism
Summary: ...moments that could have happened, but didn't. A CW/HG compilation of six unrelated drabbles that are inspired by prompts. Each will be done using 1000 words or less. COMPLETE.
1. Matchmaking

**Disclaimer: **Please don't make me say it one hundred and one times... Oh, fine. Harry Potter and all copyrights are not mine. Capeesh?

**Prompt: **Matchmaking

**Word Count: **644

* * *

_"Honorable ancestors, please help Mulan impress the matchmaker today."_

– Fa Zhou

When Hermione had returned to find her flatmate on all fours on the living room floor, trying to coax an unwilling Crookshanks to come out from under the couch, she supposed that she probably should have helped. Crookshanks was her pet, after all. It was just that Charlie's well toned posterior was angled way too perfectly relative to her location that she decided to enjoy the view instead.

"Alright. We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way, but one way or the other, I'll definitely–" Charlie's threats are cut short when Crookshanks decides to retreat further back from his reach.

_'And he calls himself a dragon keeper,'_ Hermione thinks to herself in amusement.

"I'm giving you from the count of three, you rascal," warns a now ticked-off Charlie, who had been chasing the cat for a good fifteen minutes before it dove under the couch. "One," He says, holding up an index finger. "Two... Get out from under there!" Charlie shouts at the uncooperative cat when it became apparent that it wasn't going to move any time soon. The redhead inserts an arm under the couch to try and drag it out when he suddenly jerks back; Crookshanks had taken a swipe at him.

"Fifty foot fire-breathing reptiles, I can handle no problem... Merlin help me if the guys back at the reservation see me now..." Charlie grumbles to himself as he checks his arm for any scratches. Satisfied that there's no damage, he risks his arm for a second time but like earlier, it was only met by Crookshanks' claws. He lets out an annoyed puff of air.

The redhead gets up, his back still facing Hermione, before he crosses his arms in annoyance. "Now see here, you bloody demented cat. I promised 'Mione–" A hiss escapes from under the couch at the mention of Hermione's nickname. "–oh, don't you start with me. I know you bloody well have noticed that I fancy your owner–" Hermione's jaw drops open as the dragon keeper continues his rant, "–and you're probably jealous and all but can't you just be happy over the fact that she gets to cuddle and hug you everyday? If anything, I should be the one jealous of you!" He points an accusing finger at the couch, even though it was way out of Crookshanks' sight. "So listen to me, and listen good; get out from under the sodding couch so I can give you the bath that I promised her I'd give you!" Charlie finishes with a loud yell.

For a few seconds, only a light shuffling from under the couch is heard, but eventually a nose emerges, followed by a head, a body, then finally, a tail. Once completely out, Crookshanks shakes off some of the dust it had accumulated on its fur before lifting a paw and licking it. Crookshanks looks up at Charlie innocently.

"Quite an infuriating little bugger, aren't you?" But while it was only a rhetorical question on Charlie's part, Crookshanks makes an affirmative meow.

"Bleeding cat," Charlie mutters darkly before bending down to pick him up. To his frustration, Crookshanks suddenly darts forward and escapes through the space in between his legs.

"Don't make me use a summoning char–", Charlie says as he sharply turns around only to abruptly stop when he finally sees Hermione.

Charlie feels his body tense up. "How– How long have you been standing there?" He asks, his face slowly turning red.

"You like me." She states. It wasn't a question and Charlie feels his face burn.

"I–" But he doesn't get to finish what he was going to say because Hermione strides forward and hungrily presses her lips to Charlie's.

Neither of them would notice Crookshanks proudly stroll to the kitchen, his bushy tail wagging merrily behind him for a job well done.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well... they had always said Crookshanks was very clever. _*laughs*_ Thoughts?


	2. I hate you!

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Harry Potter still isn't mine.

**Prompt: "**I hate you!"

**Word Count: **545

* * *

_"I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear."_

– Martin Luther King, Jr.

"You–" A positively seething Hermione points an accusing finger at the beaming man seated next to her hospital bed. The git hasn't stopped smiling ever since she got confined inside St. Mungo's nine hours ago.

"Me?" Charlie asks innocently before he intertwines his fingers with hers to calm her down.

"Yes, you!" Hermione's voice raises as she continues her wild accusations. Even though Charlie's hand is warm and comforting around hers, this doesn't stop the witch from digging her nails into his flesh, hoping to make him feel the pain she's undergoing. She makes a satisfied smirk when he flinches but it's soon wiped off her face when she feels another shot of pain run through her body.

"You– I– Thi– this is all your fault!"

"My fault?" replies Charlie, who is steadfast in ignoring the abuse of his hand. The least he could do was to share in her pain, after all. The dragon keeper was just hoping there wouldn't be any need to have it amputated later on.

"Yes, your fault! You did this to me! You're the reason I'm here right now!"

"You know, Hermione," begins an amused Charlie, "It wasn't like I _forced_ you to–" But he's cut off before he could finish when Hermione lets out a spew of expletives that would make any sailor proud.

"Wow. I didn't know you had that in you all this time," Charlie comments with a laugh, unnerved at the fury being displayed by the witch in front of him.

"I hate you!"

"We both know you don't mean that," Charlie stares the fuming witch straight in the eye.

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Oh, really? Well, just so you know, I absolutely positively hate– no, I _loathe_ you, you– you–"

"Yes?" prompts a grinning Charlie.

"You–" She pauses for a quick second as she thinks up some adequate insult for the redhead before settling for, "wanker." This makes Charlie's grin larger. "You're a total and absolute wanker!"

Laughing loudly by now, Charlie shakes his head in disagreement before saying, "If I was such a total wanker, then you really wouldn't be in this situation right now, you know. But if you really want me to, I suppose I can put on a show and wan–" Hermione hurriedly clamps a hand over his mouth when the door behind Charlie starts to open. Her healer enters the room.

"How are we doing, Mrs. Weasley? I hope you're finding the contractions bearable?"

Hermione nods, a fake smile plastered on her lips. Charlie's blue eyes are shining with amusement at her lie and Hermione knows he's debating whether to tell the healer or not about all the abuse he has received thus far.

"I don't know why I ever married you," Hermione whispers as the healer begins to check her vitals with various intricate waves of her wand.

"It's because you love me," Charlie replies, giving her a peck on the lips. As he sits back down, Hermione notices his hand and drops it, mollified and a little alarmed at how red it had gotten.

Charlie gives her stomach an adoring look before looking at his now released but tortured hand. "I just hope our baby gets your brains and not your temper," He says teasingly.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Here's a relatively quick update. Hopefully, I keep up this momentum. _*laughs*_


	3. Impossible

**Disclaimer: **No. Still not mine.

**Prompt: **Impossible

**Word Count:** 958

* * *

_"Nothing is impossible, the word itself says 'I'm possible'!"_

– Audrey Hepburn

"What in Merlin's socks–"

"Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?"

"There's no way."

"What are the pair of you crowding around there for?" Upon entering the kitchen, Ron had spotted his twin brothers peeking outside the backyard through a small opening made by a barely open door. "Oh, is it Order business?" he asks excitedly, trying to get a good view for himself. "What are they talking about? Who's out there?"

"Hermione," George answers him.

"Hermione?" Ron asks, bewildered. "Why's she a part of–"

Fred cuts him off before he could finish, "No, you flobberworm–"

"–Charlie's with her,"

Ron stopped trying to squeeze himself in. "Was that all?" He says, perplexed at their behavior. "What's so interesting about that?"

"Ronald, I never thought I'd see the day..."

"Hermione is..."

"It's unfathomable, ickle Ronniekins, simply unfathomable..."

"Great. Thanks, guys. That completely answers my question."

"Ron," Fred turns to face him, a serious look in his eyes, "Our dear Hermione, she..."

"Just spit it out, Fred!"

"... asked Charlie for flying lessons."

Ron snorts in disbelief before looking at his brother as if he had grown two heads. "Let's be serious, here. Hermione? Wanting to ride a broom? I'd sooner believe Voldemort handing out flowers and reading to orphaned children."

"Maybe it's a Death Eater in disguise," Fred whispers to his twin, completely ignoring his brother's sarcasm.

"Yeah, the Polyjuice Potion could easily explain it," George nods.

"You two are crazy."

"Don't believe us, dear brother? Here, have a look." George says upon noticing Ron rolling his eyes. Exasperated, Ron decides to humor his brothers and peeks outside. There, hovering a few feet above the ground were Hermione and Charlie, riding the latter's Cleansweep Seven. They weren't going very fast and every so often, they would stop in midair so that Charlie could explain something. Still, Hermione was on a broom. _Voluntarily._

"That's impossible," Ron shakes his head, refusing to believe what's before his eyes.

"But apparently it isn't," says Fred.

"Let me get to the bottom of this," and before either twin could stop him, Ron pushes open the door and walks over to Charlie and Hermione.

"If you want to go even faster, remember to– Oh, hey there, Ron!" Charlie grins in greeting at his youngest brother. Hermione, however, was refusing to look at him and instead had her sights fixed on a nearby tree, finding its leaves immensely fascinating for some reason. Her face, Ron also noted, was quite red._ 'Is Hermione... blushing?'_ Ron thought to himself. '_How odd. But maybe it's just the heat.'_

Ron looks over his shoulder and sees Fred give him an encouraging thumbs up.

Turning back around, Ron bluntly asks, "What are you two doing?"

"Hermione here was asking me for a little help with regards to flying a broom."

While Ron had a reputation for being quite dense, he was at least pretty sure that Hermione loathed anything that had to do with brooms. Her hatred for it was the very same reason she had elected to ride a thestral with Kingsley when they went and evacuated Harry from Private Drive.

"But Hermione, don't you hate–" Ron began to say before nervous laughter escaped Hermione's lips, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence. She looks panicked. Ron shoots her a questioning look.

Just as Ron was about to question Hermione again, his mum's voice was suddenly heard exclaiming, "There you are, Ron! I've been looking everywh–" Mrs. Weasley stops short of completing what she was about to say due to her eyes landing of her second oldest son's hair. She did not look amused. "Charlie," She says sharply before wordlessly motioning him to follow her.

Relief overtakes Hermione's features, thankful for the momentary distraction. From behind her, Charlie groans, "She probably wants to give me another haircut before Bill and Fleur's wedding." Though Mrs. Weasley had chopped it brutally short upon his arrival from Romania yesterday, Charlie had managed to sneak a hair-thickening charm or two before bed last night. He runs a calloused hand through his newly lengthened hair ruefully. "Sorry but I have to take a rain check, Hermione. You know how mum can be," He laughs as they land on the ground. He gives her a friendly tap goodbye on the shoulder.

As the stocky dragon keeper disappears into the Burrow, Ron raises an inquisitive eyebrow, waiting for the brunette in front of him to start explaining herself.

But Hermione just stands there, not saying anything.

"I thought you hated riding brooms?"

"I do," Hermione admitted softly.

"You mind telling me why you're riding one with Charlie?"

Her blush greatly deepens. "It's for– for– the, uh..."

"Merlin, Hermione." It was probably the first time in her life that she couldn't answer a question. She was so flustered that Ron couldn't help but laugh out loud. "You should see yourself now. You're about as red as a tomato and stammering really badly."

Hermione huffs indignantly, and uses his teasing as an excuse to stomp her way back into the Burrow, her nose turned up in the air.

"Girls," Ron whispers with a shake to the head at the retreating witch. "With the way she was acting, you'd think she had a..."

No. It was impossible. Laughable, even. The last time she acted like that, with all the uncharacteristic blushing and stammering, was during their second year when she had that not so secret crush on that sorry excuse for a professor, Gilderoy Lockhart. But now that he thought about it... She's acting as if she does fancy Charlie.

He shakes his head, laughing at the absurd thoughts in his head. There was just no way. She _couldn't _be crushing on Charlie.

…could she?

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

So much for that momentum I was talking about... _*laughs*_

Looking forward to reading your reviews, you guys. Cheers!


	4. Scared

**Disclaimer: **Credits to the world of Harry Potter belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.

**Prompt: **Scared

**Word Count: **586

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_"Courage is being scared to death... and saddling up anyway."_

– John Wayne

I could do little to ease the uncomfortable feeling caused by my overly exerted heart. Sweat had even found a way to trickle down my face despite the cool weather. To an outside observer, I probably look quite the sight, my expression and constant nervous fidgeting befitting someone who was next in line for the gallows. But then again, who could blame me? I'm scared– _bloody_ _terrified_, even, because the next few minutes would most probably dictate the rest of my life. Merlin, what would I do if they both give me a resounding _no_? At that thought, my hands begin to slightly shake, threatening to spill the contents of the teacup I'm holding on the pristine white rug that covered the floor. I place the teacup on a nearby table, just in case.

"What can we help you with, Charlie?"

"I– uhm, you see– he–here's the thing–" I visibly cringe when I find myself unable to talk without a noticeable stutter. That probably wasn't the best way to start.

"I– hand– her hand, I mean, Her–hermione's, was h–hoping f–for your blessings, I w–want to ask her t–to ma–marry me."

… and not a great way to end it either. Merlin, I should just throw myself off a cliff.

Despite my awful mangling of the English language, Henry and Elizabeth Granger apparently understood because their eyes suddenly held a different intensity as they regarded a potential son-in-law.

The silence in the room was deafening. And in my experience, silence was almost never a good thing. It was the eye of the storm, so to speak, the prelude of nasty things to come, just like the lull from Fred and George's room right before something inevitably explodes due to one of their inventions.

A minute passes by but it felt so much longer. I wish either of them would say something, that something hopefully an affirmation of my request and not...I find my heart starting to race again. My palms grow sweaty and my thoughts decide to continue on with the pessimistic timbre, listing reason after reason as to why they might reject me – I'm too loud. Being not good enough for their daughter. I'm too old. My hair is too red. I'm–

"Okay."

–hearing things. Hope starts to beat pessimism away with a broomstick. Did Elizabeth Granger just–

"You have my blessing, Charlie," she says.

I couldn't help it. I break into a large grin, literally forcing myself not to jump up in victory, "I– You have no _idea_– Thank y–"

"You do understand what I'll do to you if you break her heart, right?" A gruff voice interjects before I could finish. In the two years I have been dating Hermione, wherein I had gone on picnics, overseas vacations, and dinners with her and her parents, that was the first time I had ever heard Henry use that tone in my presence, let alone have it be directed to me.

It was understandable, though. This was his daughter we were talking about.

"I'd sooner die than harm a hair on her head," I reply softly, hoping that he could sense the sincerity in my voice.

Henry gives me one last appraising look before his lips slightly pulls up into a small smile that looked partially happy and partially rueful. After all, he was entrusting his one and only daughter to another. "I know you're a good man, Charlie. Take good care of her, you hear?"

"Always," I promise.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I've always found it sweet when guys go to the parents of the girl before popping the question. It shows that he's not just marrying the girl (if she says yes, that is _*laughs*_), but that he's also integrating himself into her family. I understand why some people might find this age old tradition as sexist, simply because it's like the parents own the daughter. This is why I prefer (and, for this drabble, subsequently chose) the phrase "hoping for your blessings" rather than "asking for your permission".

Oh, and since they weren't mentioned anywhere in the series, I took the liberty of choosing Henry and Elizabeth as the first names for Hermione's parents. No symbolic meaning whatsoever over the choice. They was just random names that I fancied using at the time.


	5. Observe

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter, mine? That'll be the day.

**Prompt:** Observe

**Word Count: **328

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"_You can observe a lot by just watching."_

– Yogi Berra

It was a few minutes past twelve in the afternoon.

Hidden within the shadows of a large tree, Charlie Weasley fondly observed a little girl of six with bright blue eyes gleefully run around the backyard of the Burrow. Upon further inspection, one would see that said girl was happily chasing a garden gnome. Her hair shines brightly under the sun, its color possessing a distinct shade of red that no doubt belonged to the Weasley family gene pool. However, the resemblance the child has to her father stops there because while she may have her father's eye and hair color, her facial features, as well as the characteristic bushy texture of her locks could only be traced back to a certain brilliant Gryffindor witch.

Hermione Granger. Possibly the only woman Charlie had ever loved in his life. Sure, he has had his fair share of girlfriends and flings back in the day just like most blokes (a man has his needs!) but in the end, not one of them ever compared to his favorite bookworm. At first they were barely even acquaintances but that quickly changed when Hermione decided to spend an entire summer researching dragons in the reserve back in Romania. He could still remember how nervous and jittery he got around her after he first realized his evolving feelings. He stammered badly, not to mention blushed easily, and for a while, Hermione had thought he was coming down with a very bad case of the flu. It took quite a bit of time too before he managed to keep his behavior in check. Up until today, Boris Murray, his partner and best mate, still wouldn't let him hear the end of it.

"Dad!" The little girl suddenly squeals, breaking Charlie out of his thoughts. Completely abandoning the now panting gnome who quickly jumps inside a hole dug in the ground, Rose Weasley runs across the backyard before throwing herself into the outstretched arms of Ron.

Charlie could only look on with a sad smile, wondering if things would have ended up differently if he had just sucked it up and told a certain brunette witch his feelings. Maybe then a little girl would also run up to him and call him dad.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Hello, guys! I just wanted to discuss something important here. I posted the first chapter of this drabble compilation last August 2012 and after giving it much thought, I've decided to scale down this compilation from one hundred and one drabbles down to six. Hence, the new name for this compilation will be "Five Plus One". I hope none of you guys are too disappointed in this major change that I'm going to implement but I really don't see myself finishing one hundred and one drabbles in the near future. You see, my original plan before was to make a drabble every other day until I completed the quota I had set myself but I simply don't have the luxury of time to do that anymore. Plus there's the fact that I'm going to prioritize my other currently incomplete fic (Those Silver Linings) and that pretty much will take up all of the free time I will dedicate to writing. Rest assured though that this isn't the last time I would be making drabbles. I still will in the future and to tell you guys the truth, I have_ a lot _in mind (I actually have some incomplete ones right now) but as I said, time is preventing me from typing them down and completing them. I just really hated seeing this compilation be on a purgatorial "in progress" status with no end in sight so I'm going to put it out of its misery now. _*laughs*_

Thanks so much for understanding! Oh, and I know the drabble I made now is a little sad. I promise the sixth and final one, which I'm going to post today or perhaps tomorrow, will be happier. _*grins*_

As always, don't be shy to type me up a review!

Cheers!


	6. Hair

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Was never mine. Will never be mine. Just no. Obviously all rights belong to J.K. Rowling.

**Prompt:** Hair

**Word Count: **623

* * *

"_Too bad all the people who know how to run this country are busy running taxicabs or cutting hair."_

– George Burns

Oh, the massacre.

"I'm trying to make it look better, _Charles. _Not worse," Mrs. Weasley titters from somewhere behind Charlie after the muscular dragon keeper cringes. The five or so inches of his red hair that falls to the floor wasn't exactly a very pleasing sight to him.

"That's quite debatable, mum," the dragon keeper grumbles under his breath as his mother gives her wand another flick. Her non-verbal shearing charm slices through another huge chunk of her son's hair.

"Why you let your hair reach such an overgrown state, I will never know."

"I think it looks fine as it is... or _was_, anyway."

The Weasley matriarch ignores Charlie's petulant tone and continues with her work, waving and swishing her wand all around his head. Large quantities of red hair soon litter the floor around mother and son and the latter couldn't help the sagging of his shoulders and the helpless sigh that escapes his lips.

"Trust me, Charlie, when I tell you that this is for your own good." Mrs. Weasley says before she enchants a broom leaning against the wall. It glides across the floor on its own before proceeding to clean up the mess. "After all, mothers know best."

It was then that Charlie notices _her _enter the kitchen. He stifles a groan. Getting bullied by his mum to get a haircut was bad enough; he didn't exactly need _her_ to witness it.

"Are you hungry, dear?"

"Just a little thirsty, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione answers as she walks across the kitchen and pours herself a cold glass of water. She was looking a little red and perspiration was dotting her forehead. The summer weather was particularly brutal this year. Even cooling charms were proving to be ineffective. Hermione finishes the whole glass before saying with a barely concealed teasing grin, "Getting a new hairstyle for the summer, Charlie?"

"Totally against my will, but yes," Charlie replies with a goofy grin back at her, his insides melting into a puddle of goo as he silently wishes that Hermione would just smile at him day and night. At first he had tried to resist the attraction he felt towards the younger witch. After all, she was his brother's ex-girlfriend, plus there was a rather large age gap between them both. But when he had moved back to London last year and subsequently became her flatmate, he just couldn't help but fall head-over-heels for Hermione. It was inevitable. How could he have resisted it? She was everything he ever dreamed about in a woman. Feisty. Passionate. Intelligent. Brave. _Sexy._

"If it helps any, I think you look absolutely brilliant with shorter hair," says Hermione as she pours herself another glass of water, a very futile attempt at combating the heat. "It really brings out your facial features, especially your strong jaw and high cheekbones. I've always fancied how handsomely chiseled yo–" She abruptly stops, as a blush quickly invades her cheeks. It didn't escape anyone that this episode of blushing _wasn't_ due to the heat, though her slip of the tongue might have been. Hermione's eyes widen as she realizes that she may have said a little too much. "Uh, y–yeah. My point is that it looks good." Her eyes were looking everywhere but at Charlie. "Anyway, I– uh, think I'll be going back upstairs to Ginny now."

Charlie could only look on with a dumbfounded expression as Hermione made a hasty retreat. On her part, Mrs. Weasley had noticed long ago how absolutely besotted his son was to Hermione but she hasn't been able to pick up any hints to suggest that she reciprocated those feelings– until today, that is.

"Charlie?"

"Yes, mum?"

"I told you mothers know best."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

And this ends the compilation. Besides the prompt, this drabble was obviously also inspired by mother's day. _*grins*_

Happy Mother's day, everyone!

Cheers!


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